An Unlikely Pair

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 3

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Everyone is up ridiculously early today, reaping day, but since no one can sleep it seems sensible. Immediately the witch and I get into a big fight, about a dress of course. This is a new low for her. Maybe it's because I'm 16 now and she wants me to date boys. Not that she or anyone in District 12 (excluding the peacekeepers) has anything against homosexuality but she thinks dating a boy will make me have to act girly if just to keep him. It's likely she is right. I don't like girls that way so a girlfriend is out of the question and all the boys… Well if they like other guys they will go for someone male and if they want a girl they will go for someone a hell of a lot more feminine than me. Rory doesn't count, he just wants to touch me not date me. Honestly I see myself never marrying because I can't picture a guy liking me without a major overhaul and I won't change for anybody. Generally I try not to think about my future, my desire for a husband and children as I'm destined for spinsterhood.

Anyway the dress is a girlish monstrosity! It is pink (freaking pink!), lacy and worst of all it's short! All the previous reaping day dresses were ankle length, some dark color and had collared necklines. Yes they were tight to show off my inherited figure (my figure sans my precious binding) but they were modest. This dress is not modest; in fact, it's so short bending over in it isn't possible. Also the deep swooping neckline will show far too much of my bare chest. I don't own a bra, I refuse to get one and the damn thing is some baby doll style that will hug my boobs. I would think it this awful thing is some prostitute's uniform if not for the fine fabric and delicate lace.

I outright refuse to wear it and believe nothing will get me into it until the witch says she will sell my beautiful rabbit pelt to make up for the money the dress cost. I shut up and go shave my legs and pits after that. It is such a good thing to have knife skills to fall back on! As it is my body just feels weird to be so smooth. This isn't the last of it though. I put the dress on now, hours and hours before the reaping and get to work. This is an all-out-attempt to ruin it in flour before it's time and have to wear anything else. The witch nearly has a fit over this but I state if I take it off now it stays off and lie that I don't care that much about my pelt. She gives in but watches me like a hawk. This is where being naturally very neat and efficient comes back to bite me in the ass. I've been in it for hours and it's still pristine and growing up near the oven flames means it takes a lot to make me sweat. Damn it!

My idiot brothers are half laughing and half offering to be a wall for me to hide behind. It's an offer that will be taken up; they will help some at least until we have to separate. The reaping is separated by gender as well as age, it's so the cameras can find the tributes easily.

Soon enough my work consumes me, drowning out the rest of the world. It is for that reason that when a knock at the back door happens I stupidly go over and open it. It's Hawthorne, he must be here to return the plastic bags. I hold out my hand for them but he is not moving, just staring at me. This goes on for a minute before I ask if he meant to keep the bags.

He snaps back to him self and smirks. "Sorry I was just distracted by noticing how cold you are." He glances down and I get his meaning.

Embarrassment causes me to flush all over. With so little on, in the cold morning air and my lack of binding all add up to my nipples being hard as rocks and so obvious. This is humiliating and it doesn't help anything when he starts to laugh at me. Slam goes the door, right in his face but his chortling comes through. The desire to beat him and scream every foul word imaginable at him is immense but sheer mortification freezes me. Somehow in this revolting dress I feel so weak, naked and vulnerable. Actually I would have preferred Hawthorne see me nude rather than in this. Eventually he stops laughing and teasingly asks if we don't want the plastic back. My brothers finally step in and get the bags from him while I hide behind the door.

Just as I think it's over he says, "Should I wake Rory and send him over?"

Just the idea is almost too much to handle. That little lecher would paw at me or at least try to; in no form can it be allowed to happen. I check for my parents but they are setting up something in the front. I grab a fresh roll, open the door and hold out the hot bread. "This bread for your complete silence."

He is momentarily stuck between shock and more laughter. He calms and asks, "Isn't that just delaying the inevitable?" He takes a sweeping look that unsettles me.

I shake my head, "I'm changing so take my offer and keep the deal or when we fight I'll knee you in the nuts." I have a reputation for not hitting boys there, it's not really fair to hit their weak spot, so he stares at me to see if it's a bluff. Right now it's like a solemn oath to me. He must see that I'm serious because he sends me a nasty smirk, takes the bread and leaves.

As soon as he goes I race up stairs and change into my nicest pants and my one good blouse. The pants are dark, nearly skin tight and the pale blouse is from years ago so it is very tight. I have to wear my binding just to button it closed. I have large breasts like the witch so even with the binding, in this tight shirt I look chesty. I hope this will be enough to satisfy my mother, if not too damn bad. I will give up the pelt because I just can't be in that horrible dress in public.

The witch has a fit but my father looks relieved, he thought it was too little also. She tries to at least get me to put on one of my old dresses but after being that exposed to Hawthorne it's impossible. To calm her down father says that the dress can be used next year. How much that is true is unclear to me so just to make a further point I don't braid my bangs into my French braid and leave them messy. It is almost a relief to leave for the reaping, almost.

When we get there the witch makes sure to point out all the other girls are in dresses. My retort is all the boys are in pants. The thwack she gives me is somewhat justified but we part after that. I find Madge quickly and we join hands like we do every year. She looks particularly pretty this year in her white dress but saying anything about it would just upset her so the words never leave my lips. On closer inspection my friend actually looks upset about something, or at least deep in thought about something. It's a while before Catpiss arrives but she decides to stick with the Seam girls. At first this seems like a snub but then she waves to Prim. Oh that's right, it is poor Prim's first year and like a good sister Katniss wants to be as close as she can. Just as I am about to tell Madge about it she throws out a random question.

"How many slips do you think Gale has this year?" she asks.

Hawthorne? What the hell is she thinking about him for? Involuntarily my eyes find him among the male Seam 18 year olds. He catches me, runs his gaze over my different clothes and smirks evilly. Oh holy bagels, what did he do? That smirk sends me checking on Rory instantly but the imp is excitedly chatting with another boy. What did the jerk say? I look back to Hawthorne but now he gives me a look so innocent it has to be false. Bastard. My face heats. That jackass is playing with me! Almost of its own accord my middle finger rises to flip him off.

This makes Madge gasp then laugh so I refocus only on her. In the scheme of things Hawthorne doesn't matter, my friend does and she deserves attention. Since she already is laughing I decide to keep it up and make up ridiculous limericks off the top of my head. They are more bad than funny and she delights in telling me so. The words 'so we're alike in that way' don't get to be voiced because the reaping starts.

The ceremony is just as terrible as it is every year. I always feel a bit sorry for Mayor Undersee for having to read aloud all that Capitolist drivel. Then it's time for the drawing and the female population collectively stiffens until Effie Trinket reads a name worse than mine.

"Madge Undersee."

My entire universe stills for a split second then it jumps into a crashing, pounding beat that echoes in my eardrums. I swear it nearly sounds like blood rushing in my ears but it has to be life as I know it falling apart.

All eyes are on my Madge as nearly everyone knows her, either from just being the Mayor's daughter or more likely from meeting her when she follows me on my bread deliveries. In general people like Madge even if they don't befriend her, like they can sense she is a nice person and it explains the vibe of distress I'm picking up from everyone around us.

Or maybe it's just her distress I feel. She is like a mannequin with her body stiff, face frozen towards the stage, skin a bloodless white, pale blue eyes unblinking and hand cold in mine. She needs help, my dear Madge needs help but I can't begin to know what to say or do. A subtle trembling is taking over her and it loosens her grasp from me. My poor Madge is shaking and beginning to breathe fast; she's not built for this. She won't survive being a tribute let alone going into the games!

"Madge Undersee," Trinket repeats clueless to who she's calling.

Suddenly her legs buckle, she is falling, I barely catch her before she hits the ground.

"MADGE! No, please she is my daughter."

I hear her father scream distantly but I'm locked on to her hopeless gaze. She's not really seeing me, she's just looking at her own doom and it cuts me deeply. Her eyes look too much like her mother's joyless voids so I hug her tightly to me, in a pitiful attempt to comfort her. She is just limp in my arms, just like her body will be in the arena. Oh my shitting god, I'm going to have to watch my Madge be murdered in the arena!

Around us our peers part for the peacekeepers. No! They are going to take her away! Standing with her still enwrapped in my embrace brings her smaller form straight off the ground. These Capitol fuckers want to send her to her death. I take a step back, bump into a peacekeeper I didn't notice sneak up and he sinks his fingers into my hair. I growl lowly; however instead of threatening him it shakes Madge out of her despair.

"Peeta," she whispers, "You have to let me go. You can't stop it, they'll only hurt you. Just let me go before they hurt you."

Oh god! She's thinking about me when it's her that is tribute? Tears erupt out of me but all I can do is murmur "No." Madge starts wriggling and squirming to get away from me, to protect me. My most valued person is trying to spare me. It's my breaking point.

I shove her into the arms of the peacekeepers, turn around and yell, "I Volunteer! I'll Be The Tribute!" I rip the fucker's hand out of my braid and sprint easily to the stairs, the damn asses had already cleared a path.

"What? No Peeta!" My precious friend screams. "No! Get back! Peeta!" For the first time in her life Madge is fighting; for the first time it's her that is thrashing, kicking and smacking people. It warms my heart to see it, to see so much life in my girly friend and I know I'm doing the right thing. Unfortunately the people she is beating up are peacekeepers so they haul her out of the square. If she weren't the Mayor's daughter I'd be worried about her. As it is, she can get away with anything short of murder. …Not that she's ever tried testing it.

When I get to the top of the stairs I face the damn cameras and announce, "I am Peeta Mellark and I volunteer as tribute!"

"Bravo! Just Bravo!" Trinket squeals then hurries up to me and takes my hand.

I snatch it back and snarl, "Don't touch me." I glare at her until she retreats a few steps.

She is visibly thrown off by this; most tributes don't show such emotion other than shock or fear towards her. They can't be blamed for having their futures torn away and then not knowing how to handle it. My future was to be alone anyway, so maybe it's no big loss? Somehow that thought feels like a lie.

When Trinket recovers she is blurting something about protocol but Mayor Undersee says that it doesn't matter now and does something so bizarre; he steps up and hugs me. He hugs me before all in the square, all of the district and all the Capitol. It's a quick hug but when he pulls back I can see the extreme sadness and gratitude in his brown eyes. This man knows me well. When Madge and I were young he would tuck us both into bed if I stayed over. While growing up he's lectured me just like my parents have on my style and behavior. He has laughed at my jokes and teased me in his own right. He is one of the very few that accepts me.

Yet this is not the way the ceremony is supposed to go so it is not unusual when Trinket tries to get things on track by asking the people of the square to applaud. What is unusual is the silence that answers. Surprised my eyes fly around the crowd. I know most of these people to some degree, as a baker, a delivery girl or a peer and no matter how friendly I had been to them they never responded much. Weren't these the people that didn't approve of me? But now they are silent and that silence says they don't agree, that this is not celebrated and that this is wrong… for me. They defy the Capitol for me.

It's a fight to keep back tears. These people that I believed had so rejected me, from whom I so badly longed for acceptance, maybe they don't totally write me off as I thought. It's not everything I wanted but it's not as bad as I feared. If my eyes close now the tears will fall for sure. A movement to my right pulls my focus from the people.

It's Mr. Abernathy, he half stumbles half strolls until he gets close enough for me to smell the liquor on him. He is looking me over queerly then asks, "Are you a girl?" Before I can even think of a response he reaches out surprisingly quickly and pokes me in the chest. He grunts, "Yep, girl."

It's subdued but a chuckle breaks out in the crowd yet the whole Capitol is probably bursting in gut busting laughter. Extreme mortification flushes my face and I pull back an arm to knock the S.O.B.'s freaking block off when Mayor Undersee hisses my name. My body halts; it's a conditioned response that's been 11 years in the making. The heat from my glowing face has dried my tears and I'm pissed enough to glare out into the square. It just causes more laughs to bubble up from them; so much for these bastards caring for me. A couple of thoughts run through my mind. One, although this humiliation can never be lived down I won't be alive for much longer. Two, the witch was right; I should have worn a dress.

Part 3 End.

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Side Note: I am looking for a Beta for this story. My grammar is all self taught and I daydream too much to always make things clear on paper.